I’M not very proud of it, but I really lost my rag with our eldest this week. He’s lost his new mobile phone, bought for his 13th birthday just two months ago.

It wasn’t really the phone going missing that triggered the shouting, but the fact he’d lied about it for three days.

I only found out because of a phone call from his minders at the Royal & Derngate Theatre, where he thinks it was lost/stolen. He’d telephoned them to ask if it had been found, and they rang him back on the phone he’d used: mine. Everyone feeling guilty. Me going nuts. Horrible.

What set me raging was not so much about the phone. If he’d told me straight-away, we could have retraced his steps and perhaps have found it. Three days later, no sign. Someone’s had it. Git.

Yes, it feels like a wasted 50-odd quid, and no, it wasn’t insured and the excess on the house insurance is more than it’s worth.

I always tell them, please, please don’t lie, because we’ll always find out and it will make things worse.

But as Bloke pointed out, he’d have been terrified to confess and probably hoped it would be found and no-one needed to know. Which doesn’t make me feel like the greatest parent.

We’ve now re-ordered his sim-card and relegated him back to his un-cool, ancient first phone. Lesson learned, painfully. If you do happen to find a black Samsung Tocco Lite, do get in touch.